


Drowning

by oh_johnny



Series: Stupid Bloody Tuesday [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touring is tough - even tougher when you can't get any privacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> I am in the processing of archiving some of what I consider to be my best works from the johnheartpaul comm on lj. So, this is not new work, although it might be new to you.

_Unlimited access. The record company had decreed it and that’s how it was to be. The Beatles were the biggest thing in the world and who knew how long it would last so better milk it for everything it was worth._

John entered the lounge of the suite and grinned as he saw Paul in there alone. He started towards him then veered off as the other door opened and the man from the Post came in. John went and poured himself a drink, muttered something pleasant at the reporter and wandered off again.

_Tired won’t kill you, they’d say. Just smile and make nice and it’ll all be over eventually. Good press is worth its weight in record sales and that’s what this is all about after all._

They passed in the corridor under the concert hall, brushing hands (accidentally, of course, “Sorry, mate!”) as they went. Each was surrounded by a forest of microphones and tape recorders. Each was saying something pleasant about how they thought up the songs or what exactly did they mean by that lyric or what did they think of the girls of this country. Each was thinking something that didn’t involve music or lyrics or girls at all. Something wordless. Something wonderful.

_Well, of course they won’t come into your bedrooms, just the public rooms of the suite. And for God’s sake be careful about the girls you bring in – make sure they’re old enough to be out alone. And be quiet!_

They sang, though nobody could hear them. They played for each other anyway, so it didn’t really matter what the audience thought. Let them have their fun screaming and fainting, they’d just play music the way they used to. About three weeks in they’d brought back “Love Me Do”, Paul wanting to hear that harmonica, John wanting to hear the plea in Paul’s voice. 

_Well, I don’t know how he got into your room. Don’t you lock it? Yes, must have been a terrible shock to be woken by a reporter. I’ll have a word with them. Don’t worry, won’t happen again. You were alone, weren’t you?_

They stopped sitting near each other at press conferences. Paul’s scent was making John crazy and he was starting to get annoyed at reporters. Paul missed the contact, the closeness, but covered it with a wink and a nod and just kept answering the damn questions.

_We promised them full access. We can’t back out of it now. Anyway, it’s just for another three weeks. What do you mean you can’t manage that? You’ve got a contract you know._

A close call – a reporter walking into the dressing room, not even bothering to knock first. He figured he’d interrupted some kind of argument, the way they were both flushed and breathing hard. Maybe a story there. Maybe a chink in the façade. Maybe he’d stay even closer to them and ferret it out.

_Boys, I know it’s hard. I’m not getting any, either, you know. It’ll be over soon, then you can go back to the way things were. Just be discreet, that’s all I’ve ever asked of you._

Pacing. John always started to pace when he was agitated. Paul just kept worrying his nails, biting them to the quick. They started making excuses not to be in the same room, each leaving abruptly when the other arrived. The reporter was thrilled – he was definitely on to something.

_You bloody will not! You’ll ruin all of us! No, I know you want time alone but it just can’t happen this trip. Look, I’ve been reasonable. I’ve covered for you on other trips, time and time again. We all have. You’re just going to have to keep it in your trousers._

A bird said something cute and John failed to flirt with her. A bigwig at a formal do wanted Paul to dance with his daughter and Paul refused, claiming he was too tired. They watched each other like drowning men sighting shore. 

_Look, you have to do the things that are expected of you. This is a job, remember, not just fun and games. This is big business and I’m doing everything I can for you boys to get you to the top and I need you to co-operate._

One day John refused to emerge from his room at all except for the show. Paul sat outside the door and got very, very drunk.

_Okay. Fine. I’ll find a way for you to be together. You have a couple of days off next week. We’ll tell the press you’re writing and can’t be disturbed. Just settle down._

Alone in the room, Brian gone, the driver gone, nobody there, no reporters, just them. They looked at each other and grinned, then moved into each other’s arms. They stood for what seemed like hours just drinking in the sensation of touching, of familiar smells, of the electricity that crackled between them.

Then they fell on each other, removing clothes, buttons popping off in their haste, tripping over their trousers on the way to the bed.

It wasn’t until much, much later that, sated, they were able to turn to each other and talk, just talk. Turns out they’d missed that almost as much as the other.

Tuesday seemed so very far away.


End file.
